


In Which Andrew Sucks Fletchers Dick and then Jerks Off On A Classroom Floor

by tobeymaguireofficial



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Classroom Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3538151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeymaguireofficial/pseuds/tobeymaguireofficial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>u read the title u know what ur in for lets get wild</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Andrew Sucks Fletchers Dick and then Jerks Off On A Classroom Floor

          Andrew is hungry for greatness, for attention, for praise and for love. He is these things more than he is anything else. His skills, his drive, his devotion, are all tools his hunger built. He is a creature of pride and fear given nothing but talent and determination to feed his need for recognition. Andrew is young, is overwhelmingly devoted to his art, is isolated and arrogant, is perfect. Perfect to be taught, perfect to be broken, perfect to be rebuilt into something greater than anyone could ever think.

         He is obedient, unquestioning, and desperate. On his knees, his legs spread open, his hard cock pressing against his jeans, his pink lips stretched wide around his teachers dick. He really is perfect, his obsession with his music and his need for greatness warping perfectly into an obsession with Fletcher, his need for fame and recognition reduced to the burning want to please him, to gain his approval, to garner his undivided attention. He moans as he feels the older man’s fingers card through his hair before grabbing the back of his head and pushing him farther down his length. His eyes open as he feels his mouth around the base and he looks up, (normally eye contact made him squirm but when it came to Fletcher he fucking craved it) before beginning to move his head back and forth, slowly building up the pace, trying his hardest not to gag, trying his hardest to gain some kind of reaction besides blank judgment for his efforts.

        All he gets is a “You’re a whole lot better at sucking dick than you are at playing the drums I’ll give you that.” Coupled with the feeling of the his hand resting at the back of his head, his thumb absentmindedly stroking his hair. It's not affection or praise in any way but to Andrew it feels like everything, feels like undivided attention, feels like pure satisfaction, feels like he's doing the one thing he was meant to do; show Fletcher what he's worth, show him how devoted he is, show him that he deserves his attention and his efforts to teach him. And if the only way to show him for now is to deepthroat his cock Andrew is more than happy to do exactly that. His mind starts to wander as he begins to think about the other things he would be happy to do for him, thinks about how much he loves anything Fletcher will give to him, whether it's criticism or praise or his dick in his ass as he fucks him as hard as he can on the classroom floor. He thinks about how much he wants to ride him, thinks about how much he wants to feel his teeth on his neck, thinks about --

      His thoughts are cut short as he feels Fletcher's hand tighten in his hair, feels his cock slam hard into the back of his throat , hears him utter a loud “FUCK” as he cums, grabbing his hair hard and thrusting into his mouth a few more times. He can feel his eyes watering and can hear himself gagging and he balls his hands into fists, trying his hardest not to let himself puke or cum in his pants right then and there. Fletchers hand moves away from the back of his head as Andrew pulls off, panting, his head hung towards the ground, cum and saliva covering his lips and dripping onto the floor. His cheeks are pink and his lips are swollen and Fletcher stares down at him, watching him as he wipes one side of his mouth with his thumb before licking it clean. “Jesus fucking Christ Neiman, you sure you wanna be a drummer? Seems like you’ve got more potential as a fuckin’ porn star.” The teenager flushes even redder, looking away from his teacher before he's grabbed hard by the jaw, his face tilted to look up towards him. He's fucking shaking, his lips parted and his breath coming in short little pants, eager for whatever is about to happen next.

     He’s still hard as hell, his hands still clenched in tight fists, watching as Fletcher withdraws his hand from his face to tuck his cock back into his pants before dragging one thumb across Andrews bottom lip, pushing it into his open mouth, smiling briefly as he feels his lips close around it before pulling his hand away. Andrew is beautiful. The curve in his back as he's fucked, the bite marks and the bruises that cover his throat and hips, his soft moans and his desperation are all Terence's, are all wonderful things that belong to him and Andrew knows it and he loves it. In only the span of a few months he had stopped being a student and instead became a creation, an endlessly and relentlessly devoted thing that belongs all to his teacher (his mentor? Creator? Whatever he is he had consumed Andrew completely.) Andrew opens his mouth, swallowing hard before he speaks, his voice hoarse “P-please, can I –“

     “Can you WHAT? Can you fucking speak up a little?”

      He swallows again, looking nervously up at his teacher before he speaks again “Can I please get off?” He almost sounds like he’s about to cry hes so desperate. He nods and Andrew smiles, big and relieved as he unbuttons his jeans, exposing his precum covered cock. He grabs it at its base and strokes a few times, closing his eyes and moaning loudly, exposing his throat as he rolls his head back, facing up towards ceiling. His eyes open in shock as he feels Fletcher grab a handful of his curly black hair, feels him yank his head down, feels him holding it firmly in place, staring intensely into his eyes as he speaks. “Fucking look at me, I wanna see your fucking face. What’s so fuckin' interesting up on the ceiling anyway?” Andrew opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out but a stuttering “I-I-I”

      “Holy fucking shit did I fuck your face so hard I scrambled your brains? Jesus Christ this isn't that complex, just don't stare at the ceiling like some sad whore while you jerk off for me on my classroom floor, is that really so fucking hard?”

       The insults only make Andrew hornier, and he almost smiles when he hears the “for me” comment. He has been chosen, chosen to perform for him and he loves it, loves the feeling of being wanted. He stares up at his teacher, his eyes wide and rimmed with red, his mouth slightly open as he starts to stroke his cock again, wanting to put on the best show he can. The other man is so close to him, watching every inch of his face, taking in every gasp and moan that Andrew makes and he is a sight to behold as he bites his lower lip and lets out a whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he gets closer and closer to orgasm. Fletchers grip loosens as he lets go of Andrews hair, deciding instead to cup his face firmly in his hand, smiling as he feels him lean into the touch, feels him nuzzling his cheek against his hand as his breathing gets heavier and his mouth opens wider in pleasure. He watches his hips roll as he starts to pick up the pace, trembling, letting out high-pitched gasps as he finally cums, his back arching, his mouth wide open and his eyes closed tightly, a long and quiet stream of “fuckfuckfuckohg-oooohfuck” tumbling out of his mouth before he goes quiet, his back slumping in exhaustion, his cheek still pressing lovingly against the other mans hand.

      He opens his eyes, looking up at Fletcher like he's some holy thing, relishing in the satisfaction of the attention, basking in the fact that Fletcher is looking at _him_ and nothing else. For a second there is nothing but the sound of Andrew breathing heavily, before he looks down at his cum covered hand, grins deviously and brings it up to his mouth, licking a long stripe up his palm and taking his pointer and middle finger into his mouth, making a show of sucking them clean, refusing to break eye contact, looking absolutely pleased with himself, his eyes half-lidded with an almost blissful look in them. Fletcher wants to slap that self-satisfied smile off his face but he settles for withdrawing his hand, taking a kind of pleasure in the way Andrews smile falters as he breaks contact.

      “Alright Neiman knock that shit off, you just look like a desperate whore instead of a sad whore and that really isn't any better. Get the fuck out and don't be late to practice tomorrow.” Andrew takes his fingers out of his mouth and gets up awkwardly, still dizzy from his orgasm, trying to put his dick back into his pants with as much dignity as he can manage (which is very little, considering the display he put on a few moments ago.) He lingers in the room for a second, trying to think of something to say before Fletcher glares at him. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you want a goodbye kiss? A thank you note? A fucking award? Thank you so much Andrew Neiman for sucking my dick and then drooling all over my classroom floor. That was fucking wonderful. You're a real A-plus student. Why the fuck are you still here? Do I really need to repeat myself? Get. The fuck. Out.” Andrew gets that deer in the headlights look, and in his haze he does the only thing he can. He obeys. He walks out of the classroom, still riding the high of the experience. He is still hungry, still needing more, still so blissfully unaware of where is is. In limbo. Somewhere between the beginning and the end of his journey of obsession and self-destruction. Still a good drummer, but not yet the great one he would become. He has no knowledge yet of where he will go, what he will go through, how much he will bleed and how much he will give up for his goal. But for now he is some kind of happy, walking out the door, his throat still aching, the feeling of Fletchers hand firmly against his face still lingering, and in the hallway, in the in-between part of his fate, he smiles.

 


End file.
